


To Life

by professor



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Crack, Fix-It, M/M, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-01
Updated: 2012-09-01
Packaged: 2017-11-13 07:32:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/501016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/professor/pseuds/professor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik wants a Jewish wedding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Life

**Author's Note:**

  * For [afrocurl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/afrocurl/gifts).



> afrocurl was having a bad day so I promised to write her a short fill for a [prompt on the kinkmeme](http://xmen-firstkink.livejournal.com/3278.html?thread=4465102#t4465102).

Charles doesn’t even feel the cold as he tries not to stare, to project, to _drool_ at the mutant -- Erik -- he’s just rescued from the ocean. After pulling them back onboard, Moira and Raven had hustled them to the nearest empty cabin and told them to dry off and warm up.

Now Erik is, _oh god_ , stripping off that wetsuit and Charles feels like a stupid teenage boy again with no control, unable to tear his eyes away from the lean, hard body in front of him. A body which houses that perfect mind that Charles just wants to wrap himself up in and wallow in, because it _fit_ , Erik’s mind fit Charles’s mind in a way Charles has never encountered before and --

Erik turns to look at him, and Charles is caught. He blushes and gulps, hoping he can come up with a decent excuse for his shamelessness. 

“I want a Jewish wedding,” Erik declares. 

Charles snaps his mouth shut. “Dry yourself off first. You're still wet from when I pulled you out of the sea."

*****

Subsequent discussions reveal that Erik is entirely serious about his proposal. It’s a wish and a hope and a promise that Charles carries next to his heart for the next days, weeks, and months.

Until he’s standing on a beach in Cuba, the sun hot on his face, and Erik holds the fate of the world in his hands.

Charles is tired, he’s hurt, his shields are shot to hell from that _damn_ coin, and he says the first thing that comes to mind:

“You promised me a Jewish wedding, you bloody bastard!”

Every eye on the beach turns to Charles. Erik looks utterly stunned.

"How are we supposed to get married if we are fugitives?" continues Charles furiously. “If you start a war? And how I am supposed to marry someone who doesn’t trust me? And what about the children?”

Charles figures, having come this far, its best to lay it all out on the table. 

“... What children?” asks Erik.

“Well I assumed we’d adopt,” says Charles. “I was thinking two of each. We’d raise them Jewish of course. But all that’s off the table, I suppose. Since I can’t marry a mass-murderer who doesn’t trust me.”

“But I _do_ trust you,” Erik protests, and it figures Erik would latch on to that, and conveniently ignore the mass-murderer thing.

“Dude, if you trust him, then why did you put on that freaky anti-telepath hat?” yells Sean from across the beach. 

“And didn’t Shaw murder your mom? Why would you take his stuff? How could you possibly think that was a good idea?” asks Alex right after, since apparently Charles and Erik’s private business is up for discussion from the peanut gallery.

“Charles,” says Raven, walking up. “If you don’t want people to comment on your ‘private business’, then maybe you shouldn’t scream at each other in the middle of a warzone. And yes, you were projecting just now.”

Charles rubs his forehead. “Dammit Erik! Just drop the missiles so we can go home and have ridiculous amounts of sex and Raven and Alex and Sean and Hank can hold the chuppah at our wedding!”

The missiles fall into the ocean.

*****

A logical person would assume that, having navigated the minefield of the Cuba confrontation relatively intact, that the wedding would be easy in comparison. A logical person would be very, very wrong.

Erik is still Erik and Charles is still Charles -- their beliefs, ethics, and personalities hadn’t changed. They fight. A lot. Fortunately the makeup sex is spectacular. And slowly but surely, Charles and Erik are listening, learning, and finding ways to compromise. It helps that they both are committed to making it work. (It also helped when Erik destroyed the helmet.)

But. Add to this a house (a very large house, but still, one house) full of nine other mutants (Charles had been ever so glad when Armando reassembled himself a few weeks after Cuba and shown up at the mansion, to say nothing of Alex’s reaction, but still, yet another mouth to feed), and one human ally. And each and every one of those people has _opinions_ about the wedding.

Charles doesn’t want to think about the cake tasting. Or the formalwear fittings. 

Or, dear god, the bachelor party. 

He just wants to drink, and enjoy his wedding day, now that it’s finally here. 

“Charles,” says Erik. “If Emma asks me one more question about ice sculptures, I will strangle her with a bedframe again.”

Charles slides his arm around his fiance’s waist, tucking himself under Erik’s shoulder. “Darling. You promised.”

Erik grumbles until Charles lets Erik steal his glass of champagne.

*****

“Why are we letting Azazel perform the ceremony again?” asks Erik. 

“He won the water balloon war,” says Charles. Erik opens his mouth again, and Charles cuts him off. “Don’t ask.”

*****

Charles and Erik walk each other up the aisle, past their friends -- their _family_ \-- to where Azazel is standing under the chuppah, held up by Sean, Alex, Hank, and Armando.

Charles barely remembers the ceremony -- he just remembers staring and smiling at Erik, who was smiling back at him, his thoughts broadcasting his joy. Words were spoken, and rings are exchanged -- rings Erik had made himself -- and promises are made.

He and Erik argue over who gets to stomp on the glass, and end up doing it together.

And then there’s kissing. And wolf whistles from the peanut gallery.

Someone yells “Mazel Tov!” And then there’s applause, and everyone rushing up to congratulate them and handshakes and hugs and well-wishes and laughter.

Erik leans down to murmur in his ear. “How soon can we sneak out of the reception and go back to our room and have sex?”

“I’ll distract everyone if you snag us some cake,” says Charles.

“I knew there was a reason I married you,” says Erik.

 

~ fin

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [L'chaim (The Forty Year Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4226703) by [listerinezero](https://archiveofourown.org/users/listerinezero/pseuds/listerinezero)




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